While
the president's security detail rushed around with
little coordination looking for the source of what they thought
to be a flash-bang grenade, Rebecca marched calmly towards the fallen
president, while ordering Travis to check on the rhino. When she
reached him, the most-powerful-man-in-the-world had awkwardly
regained his feet, though his own misfired and sidelined rifle still
lay forlornly on its side in the dust, apparently cursing its own ill
fate.
“Are
you alright, Mr. President?” inquired Rebecca as if he had merely
snubbed his toe.
“What
the hell happened?” he asked, looking dazed and confused.
“Apparently,
it was a stun grenade.”
“How
did it got there?”
“Must
be from a launcher somewhere. Your men are looking for it as we
speak. Meanwhile, I suggest that you resume a low profile until your
men have secured the area.”
He
scrambled into a depression in the ground and Rebecca entered in a
more dignified fashion. Out of observation by anyone, they fell into
each others arms and kissed passionately.
There
came the sound of a gun shot from the direction of the fallen Samson.
Moments later, Travis came back, and was rendered momentarily
speechless by the sight of Rebecca in the president's arms. Having
regained his composure, he blurted out, “He was lung-shot once,
gut-shot twice and rump-shot twice. I finished him off with a heart
shot. Would have been faster and cleaner had I used a brain shot,
but it would have ruined the trophy.”
Instead
of thanking him, Rebecca said, “Keep this to yourself, Travis. The
official story is that the president killed Samson himself with a
single heart shot while Samson was charging at me.”
The
two men exchanged surprised then comprehending glances, both heads
slowly nodding.
At
about the same time, the drone that dropped the “fire-cracker”
power-lifted itself up to 2000 feet, then flew back to the jeep of
Dr. Mark Lee unobserved, during which time he replayed in his mind
almost in disbelief the unexpected drama he witnessed in real time on
his laptop screen just moments before.
After
a short lunch, Rebecca, Travis and the president walked to the downed
rhino for their photo op. The president's men had already righted
Samson's carcass so that it was crouching on all four, with its head
resting on a rock. Most of the pictures contained all three of them,
but there were a few with the president, and only the president,
posing behind the lifeless hulk.
It
was well past sundown when a security agent rapped on the president's
tent, announcing, "Mr. President, Ms. Rebecca Bates here to see
you."
"Show
her in."
Rebecca
appeared in a loose-fitting blouse, knee-length skirt, sandals,
and a stylish hand bag which she placed carefully on the presidential
desk. Without ado, they fell into each other's arms. The
lanterns hanging from the ceiling, which they kept burning for an air
of decency, cast no shadows on the tent walls. The security
detail, according to protocol, kept a respectful distance. Their
grunts and moans were audible to no one else.
The
cloud and rain, as the Chinese so poetically euphemized it, came and
went, leaving their bodies moist and steaming.
"It
was wonderful, Mr. President, but it will be our first and last time.
Once you have re-entered your forbidden Palace, it will be
business as usual, for you and for me."
"I
wouldn't be too sure of that," he said, almost cockily.
"How
could we..."
"Hush.
I have a plan for you."
When
she returned to her tent, it was past midnight. As soon as she
had it zipped up, she opened her handbag and retrieved a concealed
video camera.
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